


the war is over, and we are beginning

by oopsabird



Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Apologies, Confessions, Crying, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, M/M, Multilingual Character, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Romantic Friendship, Tenderness, sober Charlie, the boys get a well-deserved hug, will i name a fic for every line of this song? stay tuned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: Forgiveness. Can you imagine?
Relationships: Charlie & Sameer (Wonder Woman), Charlie/Sameer (Wonder Woman)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 12





	the war is over, and we are beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, another fic!!! Woohoo! What a productive quarantine we are having!
> 
> I have approximately 800,000 drafts along this premise (the apology and the forgiveness), but this one has managed to be the first to reach self-contained completion and get out there into the world. Enjoy!
> 
> Do yourselves a favour and join me in imagining Charlie with [a better haircut than that stupid goddamn wig they glued to Ewen’s head](https://m.imdb.com/name/nm0001971/mediaviewer/rm4200833024), amen. Achilles Heel of an otherwise perfect film lol
> 
> Title is from _In Our Bedroom After The War_ by Stars

In the aftermath of the war there are many things.

Relief.

Directionlessness.

Euphoria.

Grief.

Most importantly, for the two of them, there is a kind of forgiveness.

Sameer will say it is unnecessary, that there is nothing to be forgiven. He’ll shake his head at Charlie’s painfully earnest apologies and promise that he was only doing what was right, taking care of his best friend. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault things got so terrible, he swears. The war made each of them into things they did not want to be. He cannot bear the thought of Charlie feeling so guilty about the fallout of his own pain, not when a road to sobriety and healing seems to be opening up before him at long last.

But Charlie will shake his head at Sami’s protests, insistent. Will take both Sami’s hands in his own, sitting knee-to-knee on their tattered sofa on the afternoon after the Armistice bells first ring, and begin making promises. Promises to be done with drinking. Promises to find better ways of fighting his ghosts. Promises to get a job, pull his weight with the rent and groceries again. Promises to take care of Sami, just as he has been taken care of through these difficult years. Promises for a future neither of them fully expected to come.

It is said of those who suffer from shell-shock, that they are not the men they once were. That they might never be themselves again.

And Charlie is changed, this is true. The nightmares will likely never truly leave him.He will swear off alcohol for the rest of his life. Sudden loud noises or claustrophobic chattering crowds or feelings of helplessness in crisis will be enough to send his heart rate racing and shorten his breath as his hands shake, even years later. Some nights, he will not sleep. Others, he will wake up screaming.

But Sami has known, ever since that night in the village of Veld, that the man he knew before the worst of the war was not truly gone from this world, replaced by a shell. Charlie might be a little cracked and broken, sure, but all was not lost. The night Sami stood at the piano and watched Charlie sing again, play again, bring joy again, he knew the truth was exactly what he had always most desperately hoped for — that as long as Charlie’s music still lived, his heart and soul were still there inside. Charlie was still there. Not lost. Not quite.

And now he has come back up to the surface again.

“I missed you,” Sami murmurs hoarsely, as they sit on the couch in their fancy new victory suits and the bells ring on outside. Both of Charlie’s hands are still held in both of his — slender yet strong, a pianist’s hands with the callouses of a rifle grip and a trigger — and Sami squeezes them firmly, looks at them instead of meeting Charlie’s eyes. If their eyes meet, Charlie will know that he is trying not to cry now. He will be seen, exposing his heart. “All those years,  _matraba_ , I missed you so much- I thought-”

An unbidden half-sob wells up and steals anything else he might have said, lip trembling on a shuddering sharp inhale as his illusion of control shatters. He shuts his eyes tight against the burning of them.

“Aw, fuck-” Suddenly Charlie’s hands slip free, and then Sami is being swiftly tugged forward and wrapped up in an embrace, a little clumsy but still hugging him securely tight to Charlie’s chest. Charlie’s voice is ragged at the edges as it speaks beside his ear. “I’m here, I’m not bloody well goin’ anywhere now sunshine. You’re stuck with me, alright?”

Overcome, Sami can only nod, and let his own arms come up to encircle Charlie in return. Letting the breath go and all his tension with it, he tucks his face into the crook of Charlie’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

He has kept his faith, these past few years which felt like eternities, held fast to the belief that Charlie could be saved. That there was still some part of the man Sami cared about buried in there, under all the pain and the anger and the drinking. His best friend. The centre of his heart. His songbird.

He has spent years feeling like he had lost one of the people most dear to him in the world. And yet, was unable to properly grieve that loss at all — because that person was still  there, and needed help just walking up the stairs to the apartment and being made to drink water as well as whisky. Because his hope still tortured him.

He has spent the better part of half a decade denying the insistence of so many others that Charlie’s light had been snuffed out, that there was nothing left of the man he had known.

Years, stubbornly believing even when all hope felt utterly lost.

But they were wrong. All the doubters, the cynics and naysayers, they were utterly wrong, because Charlie is here now. Sober. Stubborn and earnest and clear-eyed and gruffly protective, musical and anxious and brave. Alive.  _ Alive_.

The first true sob tears up Sami’s chest like there is something breaking free inside, some dam shattering which releases years of floodwaters all at once. And next thing he knows, he is weeping full-on, great hot tears soaking into the shoulder of Charlie’s suit as he shakes and shakes and cries openly, raw and fragile in a way he hasn’t since he was a boy. Fistfuls of Charlie’s jacket clutched tight in both hands, he clings on and gives himself over to the overwhelming surge of emotions, the euphoria and grief and the breathless relief of all that has happened.

The world will forgive him this moment of weakness, he thinks. After so many years of being strong for them both, surely he has earned it.

“Hey, it’s- it’s okay, lad. I’m here...” Though Charlie’s hoarse voice is hesitant, awkward, his touches are anything but. Clinging on strong, only trembling quite slightly, as he cradles Sami’s head to his shoulder and murmurs the words against his hair. “I’ve gotcha, yeah. Are... are you alright?”

Something about that anxious question draws up a bubble of laughter, a damp chuckle breaking forth from Sami’s lips that then turns into a slightly hysterical giggle, shaking his whole frame as he sniffles and very nearly chokes and starts laughing again even harder at that, suddenly overcome by blinding incandescent happiness.

“Er, Sami?” Charlie leans back to look at him, concerned bewilderment writ across his sharp expressive face with a twist of the brows, and god it’s just  _funny_ , it’s delightful, Sami can’t help laughing even more at the sight.

Charlie’s face screws up even further in bafflement, looking at him like he’s gone mad. “...You sure you’re okay?”

The grin on Sami’s tear-streaked face is so wide it hurts now, but he can’t stop smiling even when he catches his breath from the laughter, beaming with uncontainable joy as he shifts a hand up to cradle Charlie’s cheek in one palm, gentle and kind.

His Charlie. Against all odds, he has his Charlie back.

“Never better,  _ mon amour_,” Sami says, still grinning even as he takes this risky leap. Years of what has gone unspoken, poured into two little words. But the fear is for naught, and he feels some part of his soul be healed by the spark of understanding epiphany dawning in Charlie’s bright, clear eyes as the translation of his words sinks in.

What comes next is the surprise of his life, honestly — Charlie beats him to his own idea by mere seconds, diving forward to kiss him soundly and decisively on the lips. It is clumsy and sweet and earnest, and Sami melts with a sigh and presses into it, into all of Charlie’s touch wrapped around him, into the feeling of finally coming home.

Outside, the bells ring and ring and ring across the city, and peace has come.

**Author's Note:**

> matraba (مطربة)= Arabic word which can be translated as "songbird" or "one who sings"; a headcanon of mine of Sami’s fond nickname for Charlie
> 
> God, I have so many feelings about this. These two and their new beginnings, Sami losing Steve but getting Charlie back all within the span of like 2 days. Charlie getting sober and looking back at everything Sami did for him and feeling like he could never deserve it. If there’s one thing I think you can feel in the movie, it’s how deeply Sami must care about Charlie to just quietly look after him through the worst of things, staying beside him, all that time. Gawd. Love these characters. Never gonna shut up about these characters.
> 
> Comments and kudos are what keeps my writing joy a-burning! Also I’m @oopsabird on tumblr if you wanna come in shouting
> 
> (ps: my thanks and love to Kaye, who read an early draft of this and validated the heck outta me)


End file.
